


Thinking of You

by anon7912



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, No Smut, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26462734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anon7912/pseuds/anon7912
Summary: Hyunjae has never known what it’s like to wake up to still warm sheets, to the scent of cigarettes and sea spray that lingers on his second pillow, and not wonder if today is the day Juyeon will leave him once more.
Relationships: Lee Jaehyun | Hyunjae/Lee Juyeon
Comments: 65
Kudos: 167





	Thinking of You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I wrote this sad little one-shot because I've been feeling weirdly mopey the past couple days. 
> 
> *A quick note - there is no smut in this fic but there are explicit references to sex. As always, please consider carefully if you are at an age where this is appropriate for you to read.
> 
> I wrote this because I think a lot of the time, we’re told that love is the be all end all, that it’s enough to hold two people together. Sometimes it is, and sometimes it isn’t - sometimes no matter how much you love someone, it doesn’t mean you can (or should) give up what you want to do with your life. It doesn’t make your love any less real, it just means that maybe you aren’t meant to be with that specific individual in this specific moment. It’s a sad lesson I’ve had to learn myself before and this is an homage to that. 
> 
> Argh I’ve gone and rambled again.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Hyunjae has never known a time when Juyeon hasn’t left him. Sometimes he leaves after a day, other times, after weeks of staying put. Those always hurt the most - the times when he leaves after an extended stay - because the mirage of what it’d be like if he never left teases at Hyunjae’s medial prefrontal cortex only to have the dream get ripped cruelly away when Juyeon inevitably flits away again. 

Hyunjae has never known what it’s like to wake up to still warm sheets, to the scent of cigarettes and sea spray that lingers on his second pillow, and not wonder if today is the day Juyeon will leave him once more.  
  


~~  
  


Hyunjae is twenty three when he first meets Juyeon. He’s in his last year of graduate school, preparing to put his history degree to good use as a museum curator when a boy walks into the classroom he’s the TA for that semester.

It’s late summer, the air heavy with the scent of overripe fruit and flowers preparing to whither when the autumn comes. It’s fifteen minutes before class is due to begin, and Hyunjae is stapling syllabi when the door opens. 

He doesn’t know it yet, not then anyway, but the young man who walks in with sparkling eyes that glint with just a little too much knowledge will burn through Hyunjae’s skies like a shooting star, violently bright and relentlessly dazzling.

For now, Hyunjae just looks up with a soft smile and starts a little, surprised by how handsome the person regarding him with unfiltered curiosity is. He indicates to the seats.

“Please. Dr. Kim will be here in ten minutes,” he says. The young man smiles and nods. Hyunjae walks over to hand him a syllabus, and golden fingers take it genteelly from his. 

Later, when the rest of the students have arrived and Hyunjae is handing out the remaining syllabi, he walks past the boy’s desk. He had written his name on top of the stapled paper.

_Lee Juyeon_ in wet black ink.  
  


~~  
  


It’s a well-known fact that office hours - a time slot for students to ask their teaching assistants about course material - are a formality at best. No undergraduate student in their right mind shows up to office hours instead of napping or drinking with friends unless it’s exam season.

Hyunjae finds he is no exception. During his first office hours of the semester, he sets his bag down at the desk and pulls out some reading for his thesis, prepared to waste the hour away on his own coursework.

He’s sitting idly, skimming over a book on Sumerian artefacts found in the 20th century when the first small knock sounds at his door. He looks up to see Juyeon standing there with a charming smile and a baseball cap shoved unceremoniously on his head. 

Even with his dark hair ruffled underneath, Hyunjae thinks he still manages to look ridiculously handsome.

“Hey hyungnim,” Juyeon says, walking in - Hyunjae is caught off guard by the lack of formality but something illicit and warm curls in his gut anyway - and the young man sits down.

“I’m reading this book on the theory of alternate timelines,” Juyeon announces, pulling a heavy tome out of his backpack. “I wanted to get your opinion on how history would have to be taught if we ever cracked the space-time-continuum question.”

Hyunjae stares at him. There’s a brief moment where Juyeon continues chattering on about the book, clicking a pen to begin taking notes as he does so until he finally seems to realise Hyunjae is gawking at him speechlessly. Only then does the affable expression melt off his face, and he looks a little uncertain as he bites his lip.

“What?” he asks, eyebrows pinching together.

“Nothing- you just, you know my office hours are for if you have questions on classwork or readings right?” Hyunjae asks carefully. A grin splits Juyeon’s face.

“Sure, but I don’t have questions on classwork,” he says, leaning back in the chair languidly. Hyunjae blinks and crosses his hands delicately in front of him as he mulls Juyeon’s words over.

“Why are you here then?” he finally asks, cocking his head to one side.

Juyeon bares his teeth into a lovely smile. “To see you, of course.”  
  


~~

  
Juyeon is brazen. Reckless. 

In the classroom, he is Dr. Kim’s favourite student — thoughtful and expressive, always prepared with insightful analyses on the reading for that week. Hyunjae wonders if Dr. Kim knows what her favourite pupil is like during Hyunjae’s office hours.

Hyunjae has office hours every Thursday at 11 AM. In his past two years of being a teaching assistant, very few people have actually come to this designated time-slot to ask him questions about homework or exam preparation, but Juyeon does.

Juyeon comes every Thursday at 11 AM on the dot.

The first few weeks, Juyeon simply walks in with some topic or other prepared. Sometimes he has coffee for the two of them, other times he’s empty-handed save for a notebook or the text he has questions about.

Then, Hyunjae begins to notice the way Juyeon leans in a little too close when he’s pointing to something in a book, or the way he likes to sit forward and fix his intelligent gaze upon Hyunjae as he’s speaking and sometimes, just enough for Hyunjae to notice it, his eyes will flicker down to Hyunjae’s mouth.

One time, Juyeon trails his eyes slowly over Hyunjae’s face, laden with implication, and he says, “You look good today, hyungnim.” Hyunjae blushes and makes a face, but his chest tightens with _something_.

A month into the semester, Hyunjae says something funny - or, _Juyeon_ thinks he says something funny but Hyunjae isn’t too sure it’s actually all that comical - and the boy throws his head back in laughter. Hyunjae is too focused on the way the long line of Juyeon’s neck looks like a pillar in the Parthenon to realise that Juyeon has laid a warm hand on his leg until its warmth is seeping through the fabric of his jeans.

Hyunjae looks down then, startled, and when he looks back up, Juyeon is regarding him with a rakish, daring sort of heat.

He leaves Hyunjae’s office shortly after, but the prickling on Hyunjae’s lower thigh doesn’t stop tingling until hours later.  
  


~~

  
It’s the end of the term, and all the final grades have been released. Hyunjae is packing up his office when he hears a familiar soft knock once more.

Juyeon is standing in the doorway, eyes bright and curious, with a smile curling at the edge of his mouth. 

“Thanks for the A,” he murmurs, the barest edge of a smirk colouring his otherwise gentle grin. “I really enjoyed the class.”

Hyunjae smiles back at him, still shuffling his papers. “I’m glad. Dr. Kim always said you were a pleasure,” he replies quietly, although there’s a thudding in his chest, an anticipation he can’t quite place. 

Juyeon bites his lip and wanders in. “Did _you_ think I was a pleasure?” he cajoles while he closes the door behind him. Hyunjae stares, careful and yet somehow simmering with want, as Juyeon approaches him and curls his body around Hyunjae’s stiff frame.

“I don’t really care what Dr. Kim thinks _hyung_.” The banmal is the metaphorical army breaching the enemy’s border, the wind shattering the line of demarcation in the sand. 

When Juyeon kisses him, Hyunjae can faintly taste the ashiness of cigarettes on his tongue. It’s exhilarating and gut-wrenching, and Hyunjae lets Juyeon take and conquer every inch of his mouth with his wandering lips. 

_Hyunjae is the small island peoples watching colonisers anchor their ships on untouched white beaches. Juyeon is indomitable tanks and 20th century weapons, stronger than the rusting armour that costumes men who have been sent to die._

_Juyeon is inevitable._

When the young man pulls back, Hyunjae drinks in the glassiness of his normally sharp eyes as they dart lazily across Hyunjae’s flushed face. 

“I think that was against school policy,” Hyunjae rasps. Juyeon just laughs recklessly the way he does and shrugs.

“Semester’s over. You’re not my TA anymore,” he says rakishly, leaning against Hyunjae’s department-issued desk still covered with documents.

“What am I then?” Hyunjae asks — daring, so heedless for once.

Juyeon smirks and pulls his baseball cap off. “A guy I wanna make come.” 

Hyunjae is still gasping for breath when Juyeon tucks him back into his slacks and stands up. His knees make a popping sound, and the boy laughs as he thumbs away at the excess moisture gleaming on his lips. 

Hyunjae regards him with a sort of breathless incredulity. “Would you have blown me if I didn’t give you an A?” he asks, laughing but also hopelessly desperate to know.

Juyeon snickers and pulls him in for a kiss. Hyunjae sinks into it, tongue gently running over Juyeon’s, and he’s hazy eyed when Juyeon finally pulls back.

“Definitely,” the young man murmurs with a swollen mouth. A last kiss, and then he’s tossing his baseball cap back onto his head and sauntering out the door. 

“Probably not if you gave me a B though,” Juyeon throws over his shoulder with a wink, and Hyunjae can’t help the disbelieving little snort that bursts out of him. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair and then presses it against his still hot cheek.

It’s Thursday at 11:32AM, and Hyunjae realises he’s in too deep with a boy whose lips taste like cigarette smoke and Hyunjae’s own come.  
  


~~

  
It takes three months of sleeping with Juyeon to notice that he always likes to be on top. Not _the_ top, but on top. Even when Hyunjae is buried so deep inside the dark-haired man that he feels like he’s choking, Juyeon wants to be on top. Riding Hyunjae, or being fucked against the wall, or even getting bent over the kitchen counter.

Perhaps it’s more apt to say that Juyeon never wants to be on the bottom. The few times it happens, he always coaxes them into a different position so seamlessly, so charmingly, that Hyunjae can only nod dumbly in response with an impossibly dry mouth.

It takes three months of sleeping with Juyeon for Hyunjae to realise the other hates having the weight of Hyunjae on top of him.

It makes him wonder what it all means.  
  


~~

  
“What’re your plans for after you graduate?”

They’re lying in Hyunjae’s bed, the soft spring sunlight streaming through the windows to cast the room in a buttery glow. The sheets are a little damp, but Hyunjae feels unspeakably warm as Juyeon curls into his side. He runs his slender fingers through the young man’s dark hair and revels in the way Juyeon seems to press himself closer to the contact.

“I dunno,” Juyeon answers, and Hyunjae can almost see the fluttering of his dark lashes as Hyunjae gently massages his scalp. “Might not even graduate.”

His hand stops abruptly in Juyeon’s hair.

“What do you mean?” Hyunjae asks, bewildered. “I’m pretty sure you have a 4.0 so- what?” 

Juyeon looks up then and laughs, airy and free, before throwing himself down on the pillow beside Hyunjae. 

_The heather grey sheets have started to smell like Juyeon, Hyunjae realises belatedly._

“I mean- I dunno, I’m not that fussed about a piece of paper y’know? I don’t need it to do the things I want to do,” Juyeon says, propping long golden arms behind his head as he stares up at Hyunjae’s ceiling. “There’s a whole world out there that I wanna see, and a degree isn’t going to do anything except delay me from doing that.”

His dark eyes sparkle and coruscate up at Hyunjae’s cracked white plaster, and Hyunjae wonders what he sees up there that makes his face pull into so beautiful a smile.

“You want to leave Seoul?” he asks, and his throat feels unduly tight for some absurd reason because Juyeon is young and beautiful and they’ve only been sleeping together for just shy of half a year, and Hyunjae is twenty three with his own life ahead of him without some silly fantasy of a boy who sucked him off at the end of a semester. 

Still, Juyeon must hear the catch in his voice because the young man turns to look at him with an unbidden softness - or is it pity? - in his normally bright gaze.

“You shouldn’t- don’t wait,” Juyeon murmurs. “For me, I mean. Or- it’s not like I was implying you would or anything, I’m sure you’re sleeping with other people too but- y’know- just. Yeah.”

_He isn’t. Hyunjae isn’t sleeping with other people at all._

There’s nothing quite as painful as the feeling of his heart suddenly plummeting to his stomach, and Hyunjae’s mouth is dry when he smiles. It’s a poor pantomime of Juyeon’s effortless grin - terribly, terribly flimsy - but it suffices.

“No, of course not.”  
  


~~

  
Of course he waits. 

How could he not? It’s pathetic and melancholy, but the world is a little less colourful without Juyeon around and Hyunjae has grown too used to brightness to live in the feeble light of others.

It’s not entirely irrational. (He thinks.) It’s not because- because—

He waits because even though Juyeon says he’s sleeping with other people, Hyunjae is the one who gets to hear him spill his deepest desires in the comforting embrace of nightfall, when it’s just the two of them in Hyunjae’s bedroom shrouded in darkness. 

He waits because Juyeon comes to _him_ when he gets into an argument with his parents about dropping out of school, because Juyeon shows _Hyunjae_ his red-rimmed eyes and hoarse voice when he describes how his father called him a disappointment.

He waits because Juyeon might have beautiful people waiting for him in every port and every city (and he undoubtedly does because Juyeon himself is distressingly, undeniably beautiful) but when he comes home smelling like the dust of places unseen, he always comes back to Hyunjae first, and perhaps that shouldn’t be enough but it almost is. 

Hyunjae waits because Juyeon brings beautiful things home for Hyunjae like apologies woven into pretty tapestries and stained into glass figurines — lovely and delicate and _real_.  
  


~~

  
When Juyeon comes home, it happens like this —

Hyunjae first notices Juyeon is back, not because of a text or even a knock on his front door. He notices because it’s two in the morning and his kitchen light is on. He opens his eyes a crack, and for the barest second, his heart thuds noisily with the fear that an intruder has somehow gotten in. 

Then his brain catches up, and Hyujae's heart is battering against his ribcage for a wholly different reason. He leaps out of bed and skids around the bedroom door into the hallway, practically catapulting himself into Juyeon’s arms.

Juyeon drops the bag of crisps he was holding to catch him with slightly greasy fingers and laughs the entire time.

“Hey baby,” he chuckles huskily, pressing kisses that taste like salt and vinegar to Hyunjae’s mouth. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says in between slipping his tongue against Hyunjae’s so that he, too, tastes like cheap snack food and Juyeon.

Hyunjae kisses him back breathlessly for a moment, legs still wrapped around Juyeon’s tapered hips, his hands knotted desperately into the other’s dark hair as he takes, and takes, and takes everything Juyeon has to give.

When at last he’s reassured of the fact that Juyeon is really standing there, clad in tattered jeans and an enormous hoodie, he lets himself slip down from Juyeon’s lanky frame.

“You shouldn’t have turned the light on if you didn’t mean to wake me,” he swipes without heat, leaning down to pick the fallen bag of crisps. He pops one in his mouth and grimaces before clipping the bag up to put it back in the pantry. 

“These are so gross,” he complains, swallowing with a pinched mouth. 

Juyeon, who’s leaning languidly against Hyunjae’s kitchen counter looking so painfully like he belongs there that Hyunjae’s heart lurches for one wild second, laughs again. “Why d’you buy them if you hate ‘em so much?” he asks in his usual way with words that slur together in the haste with which they fall off his tongue.

Something trips in Hyunjae’s chest, and his voice is a little unsteady when he answers quietly, “Because you like them.”

_Because you like them, and I buy them even when I don’t know you’re coming home._

Juyeon’s normally bright eyes soften, and he runs an enormous hand through Hyunjae’s sleep-dishevelled hair. 

“Let’s go to bed hyung,” he murmurs, and Hyunjae’s eyes flutter shut as he lets Juyeon lead him back to his - _their_ \- bedroom. For the first time in weeks, he falls asleep curled around Juyeon, his arms wrapped tightly around the other even in unconsciousness as though it’ll somehow keep Juyeon from drifting away once more.  
  


~~

  
“I’m not sleeping with anyone else, you know.” 

The confession happens a year after Juyeon leaves for the first time. Hyunjae looks up from the thick stack of artefact documentation papers that he’s been staring at the last hour to blink abruptly at the young man.

Juyeon looks as he always does, young and effortlessly careless, while he reclines against Hyunjae’s sofa, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Hyunjae’s breath catch. 

It’s _nervousness_. For the first time, Hyunjae doesn’t feel like the one out of depth, like the one who’s drowning, because Juyeon is sitting there, stunning and desirable, but with a glint in his eye like he’s just given some important part of himself away.

Hyunjae feels a slow smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Alright,” he says quietly. For once, it’s nice to feel like the one holding the reins.

Juyeon stares and frowns. He narrows his eyes, but Hyunjae has a carefully detached expression on his face. The young man huffs and fiddles with his golden fingers.

“Yah, hyung, I’m out here laying my heart on the line for you and you-”

He snorts impolitely. “Sorry, you’re _what_? I don’t see any heart on this fabricated line Juyeonie,” he ribs. 

Juyeon rolls his eyes like a petulant child and sits up to come face to face with Hyunjae.

“I’m saying,” he grits, “I’m saying I’m not sleeping with anyone else and I would like it if you would also- not do it either.” There’s a tawny blush rising on his cheeks and Hyunjae realises Juyeon has never looked as young, as unsure as he does now.

He realises this is Juyeon’s way of clumsily, sweetly, offering Hyunjae his heart in two golden palms cupped just so.

He taps his cheek in a universal command and Juyeon comes easily to press his mouth against ivory skin. When he pulls away, Hyunjae runs his fingers benevolently through Juyeon’s inky hair and smiles.

“Silly boy. It’s only been you for a year and a half now.”

That night, Juyeon lets Hyunjae fuck him into the mattress as an apology for making him wait that long and Hyunjae thinks that maybe, just maybe, Juyeon won’t leave again.  
  


~~  
  


He does. 

Again and again, Juyeon leaves, and Hyunjae atrophies like chipping paint or a festering wound.

Sometimes he says goodbye, and other times he doesn’t. Sometimes Hyunjae gets a regretful kiss to the corner of his mouth and a “I’ll be back before you know it”, and other times he gets the sound of a door closing with only the imprint of Juyeon’s body on his sheets to keep him warm.

One time, Juyeon asks Hyunjae why he doesn’t just come with him.

Hyunjae goes stiff and then pale, and his lips are taut when he bites out, “I shouldn’t have to be the one to give up my life when you’re the one leaving.”

When Juyeon doesn’t say anything, he leaps up from his armchair, papers flying off his lap in his haste, and spits, “Do you know how fucking selfish that is? Do you know how fucking selfish _you_ are?”

Juyeon stares at him like a cornered beast - frightened? Hyunjae can’t imagine why - and suddenly snarls, “Fuck you.”

Hyunjae wonders if the door has splintered with how hard Juyeon slams it on his way out.

  
~~  
  


It’s 8 AM and they’re standing in Hyunjae’s kitchen drinking the coffee Juyeon brought back from Colombia. Well, Juyeon is drinking it. Hyunjae’s chugging it down with a gallon of whole milk because he rather hates coffee but sort of needs the caffeine. 

“I love you,” Juyeon says conversationally between sips.

Hyunjae promptly and abruptly chokes.

Juyeon laughs, sunny and unencumbered by the tiredness that Hyunjae feels in his bones, as he pats Hyunjae on the back. Hyunjae waves him off, more to save face and less because he doesn’t need it.

“How’d you figure that one out?” he croaks, and he sees Juyeon’s handsome face turns pensive. He takes another sip, and Hyunjae watches him roll the bitter liquid in his mouth as if it’ll help coax the words out. 

“I realised…” he starts and stops. Sometimes words pour out of Juyeon’s mouth like the rush of a waterfall, thundering and excited, and other times they spill like sticky treacle, sweet in their measuredness. “I realised that no matter where I am in the world, I’m always thinking of you,” he says, and Hyunjae feels something stutter in his left ribcage.

Juyeon leans in, and when he kisses him, it tastes like hazelnut and a hesitant invitation. “Do you love me too?” he asks against Hyunjae’s lips.

There’s nothing to do except nod and hold Juyeon close by the midnight strands of his hair. When Hyunjae nudges at his nose for more kisses, however, Juyeon murmurs, “Five more kisses and then I gotta go pack for tomorrow morning.”

The words are chilling - uncompromising and glacial. Hyunjae stops dead and he can’t help it when his eyes flutter shut in defeat. 

“You love me,” he says dimly, leaning away from Juyeon’s warmth.

“Right.” Even though the hopeful smile he gets looks like the first rays of sunlight breaking through tumultuous clouds, Hyunjae is once again so very, very, tired. 

“But you’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

Juyeon grimaces, but nods anyway. “Right.”

It’s a bitter pill to swallow and the unspoken words linger in the air - or do they just linger in Hyunjae’s mind? - as Hyunjae stares firmly down at his now-frigid cup. 

_I love you, but I want to leave more.  
  
_

~~

  
It takes nineteen days in Portugal for Juyeon to come home for three. 

He bursts through the door when he does, smile as wide as the moon and Hyunjae is drunk, dizzy off of love and joy and a twenty three year old man who works at hostels around the world just so he has the money to see all of it.

That night, Juyeon lists every single thing he saw that made him think of Hyunjae and it’s almost sunrise by the time he’s finished. Even so, Hyunjae has never felt more bliss than he does tangled up in Juyeon’s arms in that moment. 

He holds onto that memory like a drowning man clings to plywood when he drives Juyeon to the airport two and a half days later.  
  


~~

  
When Juyeon apologises - for leaving, for fighting - it’s always the look in his eyes that makes Hyunjae’s resolve crumble.

_Juyeon looks at Hyunjae like he’s precious crystal that Juyeon accidentally left a crack in._

Hyunjae screams when he’s angry. He yells and gesticulates, and sometimes he throws books at the wall in the hopes that Juyeon will somehow be able to feel the raging tempest in his chest if Hyunjae can just _break_ something in front of him.

Juyeon, on the other hand, is quiet when he’s angry. His voice cuts through Hyunjae’s hurricane with cold, measured fury that makes Hyunjae feel like he’s nothing. Worse than that, however, is the way Juyeon just leaves. Hyunjae could take the biting words, the icy impassivity — he could take it all if Juyeon just stayed.

But he doesn’t. Juyeon walks out every time they fight and he leaves Hyunjae standing in the middle of the living room holding little pieces of a porcelain heart that he’s too tired to glue back together. 

It’s the same fight every time. 

_Why can’t you just- not leave?_

_I don’t want to stay. There’s nothing for me in Seoul._

_I’m here - how is that nothing?_

Today, though, Hyunjae adds another line to the same theatre that they encore endlessly. Today he asks hollowly, “Why don’t you love me enough?” before Juyeon can storm out the door.

It’s selfish and he knows it is because Juyeon’s gaze flashes red before becoming so very broken. 

“That’s not fair, it’s not- it’s not about enough or- or quantifying- _God_ , you think it doesn’t kill me too every time I leave? I just- travelling makes me feel _alive,_ hyung — why don’t you understand?” Juyeon asks raggedly.

The distance between them is suffocating. 

“Don’t I make you feel alive too?” Hyunjae asks in the quietest of whispers - too quiet for the cacophonous fracturing in his chest - and Juyeon starts.

He tears across the room, long legs striding across the floorboards to kneel before Hyunjae like a repentant believer. Hyunjae trembles underneath Juyeon’s kisses that skitter, consecrated and sacrosanct, across his knee caps and shins.

“Hyung _please_ ,” the young man at his feet says hoarsely. “Please you- you know how much I love you.” When Hyunjae doesn’t respond, Juyeon presses desperate words against creamy hands and hipbones like he’s trying to tattoo them into Hyunjae’s skin — _please, you must know, tell me you know, hyung, please_.

Finally, with quivering fingers, Hyunjae strokes Juyeon’s hair back from his face. There’s something divinely beautiful about the way Juyeon leans into his palm, the way he immediately touches his lips to the cradled hand at his cheek, and Hyunjae just feels so, so weary.

“I know,” he whispers.

They stay like this for a time, Juyeon still knelt at Hyunjae’s feet, nose buried and with his hands wrapped around Hyunjae’s legs like _he’s_ the one that’s scared of being left as he murmurs over and over, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Perhaps it’s petty or maybe it’s just heartbreaking, but Hyunjae can only focus on the fact that Juyeon says “I love you” and not “I’m sorry for leaving”.   
  


~~

  
One time, Juyeon leaves and doesn’t come back for twenty nine days. 

When Hyunjae finally gets a call from the hospital, he’s pallid and _fucking furious_. He bursts into the patient room, vibrating with anger and Juyeon is just laying there with a straw hooked into his lovely mouth, eyes twinkling with merriment in spite of the enormous bandage wrapped around his abdomen.

“What in the _ever loving fuck_ is wrong with you?” Hyunjae bites out, hot tears flooding his eyes.

Juyeon just smiles and waves him over. “Hey baby,” he whispers, and the kisses he imprints onto Hyunjae’s palms feel like petals falling on top of still waters, gentle rippling and capillary waves that look like love.

“When will you grow up and- and stop doing whatever this is?” Hyunjae asks as saltwater courses a steady stream into his gasping lips and he struggles so very valiantly to hold his heart together in fingers that feel too frail.

Juyeon doesn’t respond because he doesn’t have to. They both know the answer.

The feeling of Juyeon’s mouth on Hyunjae’s pale wrists whispers of regret.

_  
~~_

  
Perhaps it should surprise no one, least of all Hyunjae, when their relationship begins to fall apart. After all, he’s the one who feels resentment spread like patina on bright bronze every time he comes home to an empty apartment that smells just enough like Juyeon’s cigarettes to make Hyunjae’s heart ache.

Even when Juyeon _is_ home, it’s merely a countdown until he says goodbye again. Hyunjae finds himself becoming excellent at mental arithmetic with how often he has to calculate the number of minutes he has left until Juyeon leaves once more.

Sometimes he even finds himself hating it when Juyeon says “I love you”. It’s a taunting reminder that no matter how much he says it, Juyeon will never love him enough to stay.  
  


_~~_

  
“If you leave, you can’t come back.”

They’re arguing again. The same, worn words cling to the air, and they’re tattered but this time- this time it’s different. There’s an edge of desperation, and Hyunjae wonders if Juyeon can feel it too.

“You don’t get to ask me to stay, you- you don’t get to make me choose like that,” Juyeon bites out furiously, pacing like a caged animal in their small living room — too small for the world he wants to see. 

Hyunjae watches him sadly, his eyes squeezing shut for a barest moment. When he opens them once more, Juyeon is standing across the room, staring at him with a mixture of anger and helplessness. 

“You’re right, I don’t get to make you choose,” Hyunjae says tiredly. “I’m not making you choose. I’m making a choice for _me_ , Juyeon-ah.” 

Juyeon eyes glint obsidian and vulnerability in their dim living room light. 

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep waiting for you to come back,” Hyunjae says. 

Juyeon’s nostrils flare and he pinches his nose bridge tightly between fingers that Hyunjae has spent hours studying and touching and loving. 

“I have to go, I- I can’t be here right now,” Juyeon mutters hoarsely, and then the front door is slamming and Hyunjae is all alone again.

It’s quiet. Outside the window, Seoul’s sunset bleeds crimson and apricot.  
  


~~

  
In the end, it’s not really anyone’s fault. 

In the end, they’re just two people in love who want different things as much as they want each other.

“I guess this was inevitable,” Hyunjae says as Juyeon stands at the front door of their - _his_ \- apartment. Calloused fingers graze his cheeks, and Hyunjae shuts his eyes in the hopes that the touch will embed itself into his mind if he focuses hard enough. 

“I know,” Juyeon murmurs softly against his ear. Hyunjae wraps his arms around him, and Juyeon does the same.

“I love you,” Hyunjae says. It’s hard to let go. 

Juyeon sighs. “I love you too.” 

When the door shuts behind him for the final time, loneliness claws at Hyunjae’s chest. Maybe it’s ironic that in the end, he’s the one who leaves Juyeon. He smiles at the irony as he traces his fingers against worn wood — he smiles because if he doesn’t, he might just fall apart.  
  


~~

  
Hyunjae is walking through the Mesopotamian exhibit at his museum when a soft voice stops him.

He turns to see a regular patron - a handsome man with a gentle face - and Hyunjae smiles. 

“What can I do for you?” he asks, walking over. 

The man runs a hand through his hair bashfully before smiling too. “I uh- I was hoping you could tell me about this Egyptian bowl?” 

Hyunjae frowns. He’s almost certain that he’s seen this man at the museum every day over the last few weeks, and definitely in and out of the Egyptian wing. “I’m pretty sure you know it’s not Egyptian, sir,” he says with a small chuckle. The man blushes - and Hyunjae thinks passingly that it’s a nice blush - before clearing his throat.

“Right, uh- you caught me out,” he cringes. “I wanted- that is, I was hoping to see if you wanted to go out with me.” A brief pause. “On a date,” he clarifies.

Hyunjae is sort of speechless for a moment, but it’s been a year since Juyeon left and he’s _so_ fucking lonely. 

“Sure,” he says with a smile. “A date sounds nice.”  
  


~~

  
Sangyeon is mellow and amiable the way most men in their mid-thirties are. By their sixth date, Hyunjae is starting to feel guilty that he doesn’t feel anything close to sparks, but he’s selfish and has been on his own for too long so he doesn’t say anything.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have to. On their seventh date, over hearty Italian food and good French wine, Sangyeon puts his cutlery down to sigh heavily. 

Hyunjae blinks and cocks his head. 

“You okay?” he asks around a mouthful of lamb.

Sangyeon scrubs at his face, uncharacteristically agitated and Hyunjae frowns. “Hyung, what’s up?” he asks again, reaching forward to take Sangyeon’s hand - they do that now, hold hands, and it’s nice even though it’s not quite the same as the way Juyeon’s long fingers wrapped around his entire palm - to stroke soothing circles on the back of it. 

Sangyeon looks at him with what can only be described as a tortured gaze and says, “I’ve been- not honest with you.” Hyunjae starts, but indicates for him to continue, more perplexed than concerned, as he takes a sip of wine.

“I…I was married. Until about two years ago. My husband- he passed away from leukaemia.” 

Hyunjae stares at the man before him, unsure what exactly Sangyeon thinks he lied about. “That’s okay, hyung,” Hyunjae murmurs. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No- I,” Sangyeon makes a frustrated noise. “The truth is, I’m not looking for love Hyunjae-ya. I know it was fucked up of me not to say anything earlier, and I should’ve but I’ve just been so- god, I don’t know- alone and I wanted to _not_ be alone anymore but I should’ve-”

“It’s okay.” Hyunjae interrupts him, and the relief he feels is so palpable he can taste it mixing with the notes of plum and spice on his tongue. He sighs and puts his own fork down to prop his chin up on his free hand. “I don’t- I’m not really looking for love either.”

It’s Sangyeon’s turn to look surprised. “But you’re so- so young?” he intones, appalled. “You _should_ look for love- I mean, it’s out there and there’s no real reason for you to saddle yourself with someone like me.” 

Hyunjae shakes his head. He’s silent for a moment, weighing his words.

_How do you tell someone that you’re not looking for love, not because you don’t want to give your heart away, but because it’s already out there in the world — in Peru and Malaysia and Iceland, and all the places in between?_

Sangyeon is patient, and the silence stretches on as Hyunjae mulls it over.

In the end, he just says, “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to see where this goes.”

No one’s smile will ever make his heart thud quite the way Juyeon’s does, but Hyunjae thinks Sangyeon’s is pretty lovely too.   
  


~~

  
Hyunjae and Sangyeon stay together. They’re a couple - technically anyway - but it’s really more like companionship.

They’re a couple in that they sleep together and fuck occasionally, but they’re the kind of couple that doesn’t mind when the other person calls out someone else’s name into sweat-slicked sheets.

They’re a couple in that they celebrate anniversaries, but instead of anniversaries of first dates or first kisses, they hold each other through the anniversaries of being left by the person they love.

They’re a couple in that they live together and cohabit comfortably, but instead of belonging to one another, Hyunjae belongs to Juyeon and Sangyeon belongs to the man whose name is tattooed on his chest.

Still, it’s enough. It’s enough because Hyunjae _gets_ Sangyeon and he gets him back, and when the world looks cold and lonely, Sangyeon is always there with a warm smile that feels like a gentle light in the dark rather than fireworks lighting up the night sky. 

It’s enough.   
  


~~

  
It’s a year after he meets Sangyeon that Hyunjae gets a call from a random number. He’s just getting home from work, and he pulls out his phone without thinking to check the caller ID.

The voice on the other end makes his stomach drop to the floor. 

“Hyung?” Juyeon sounds almost exactly like Hyunjae remembers him — husky and gravelly from years of smoking. 

“Juyeon?”

The sigh he hears is relieved, and Juyeon laughs - how can he laugh at a time like this? - before saying, “Are you busy?”

And yes, Hyunjae had told Sangyeon they’d eat hot pot tonight, and yes, Hyunjae had planned on going through a series of resumes for an assistant position he’s been hounding the museum director to fill for months, but is it a surprise to anyone when he says “no”? 

He finds Juyeon at a park bench. The sky is navy and Prussian blue, but somehow Juyeon shines like a beacon as he lounges casually on the mottled wooden bench. 

It’s sort of like Hyunjae can breathe all over again. 

He rushes forward, his feet carrying him, unbidden, towards Juyeon, and then he’s throwing himself into Juyeon’s arms and _god_ it’s like being whole once more and Hyunjae wants to seal their souls together so that Juyeon can never leave, so that Hyunjae can keep him right in his outstretched hand for ever and ever and _ever._

Of course, that’s a childish fantasy. 

When they pull away from one another, Juyeon’s eyes are glassy with tears. 

“I missed you hyung,” he says hoarsely. Hyunjae nods because there’s a thickness in his throat that he can’t quite dislodge, so he simply presses his forehead against Juyeon’s to linger in his warmth for just a little longer. 

Juyeon sniffs and clears his voice. “Listen, I uh- shit, I called because I was in town for the night but I’m-”

“Leaving.” Hyunjae says for him. “I know.”

Juyeon bites his lip and cards his hand through Hyunjae’s hair - he wonders if Juyeon notices that there are a few more grey strands at his temple than there were the last time - before asking carefully, “You’re not angry?”

And Hyunjae finds that he’s not, not anymore. Maybe he would’ve been two and a half years ago, when he still wanted Juyeon to be someone he wasn’t or when he still wished for impossible things, but nine hundred days have passed since then and Hyunjae thinks - hopes - he’s at peace now. 

“No,” he whispers against Juyeon’s cheek. “Not at all.”

After a time, they eventually sit, and Juyeon looks so nervous that Hyunjae’s heart thrums a little but it doesn’t take much coaxing for the vibrant young man Hyunjae fell in love with all those years ago to emerge. 

They talk and talk and talk. They talk about Hyunjae’s job, about Juyeon’s parents, and about Sangyeon and all the places Juyeon has been to, too. 

It’s familiar, and comforting, and even though Hyunjae is tired he still feels so alive sitting beside Juyeon as they stare at the clouds rolling across a galaxy of stars, waiting for the dawn to come.

“Do you remember the first time I came to your office hours?” Juyeon asks at length into the steadily brightening sky. 

Hyunjae chuckles softly. “Of course. How could I forget? You asked me how history would be taught if alternate timelines existed.”

Juyeon smiles too, his eyes soft and contemplative. “Do you think some version of us out there is happy?” he asks tentatively.

Hyunjae sighs and leans his head on that broad shoulder he is so intimately, painfully familiar with. 

“I do.”

Juyeon releases a breath and relaxes under Hyunjae. “Good. That’s good.” He sounds relieved, like the knowledge that a hypothetical him has managed to make a hypothetical Hyunjae happy is mollifying — comforting somehow. 

When the sun begins to rise, bathing the world in satiny pinks and sugary sorbets that curl saccharinely around the clouds, Hyunjae knows that their time is once more coming to an end. He exhales softly and says, “Think of me from time to time won’t you?”

Juyeon rises, cast in a light so golden it looks seraphic and, like he’s handling something unspeakably precious, he takes Hyunjae’s hand in his and lifts it to his lips. 

The “always” he whispers and folds into Hyunjae’s alabaster fingertips is a sanctified “goodbye”.

Hyunjae sits alone on that bench for a long while afterwards — after Juyeon’s silhouette has disappeared into a poppy and chrysanthemum sky, and after the chill of twilight has been washed away by dawn. 

Hyunjae sits alone with the memory of a boy who always leaves, his hands cupped around the feeling of Juyeon’s mouth on his skin as if squeezing his fingers tight enough against one another will keep the warmth from slipping away.  
  


~~

  
Hyunjae gets a postcard when he’s forty five. He doesn’t see it at first, is halfway through pulling off his tie when Sangyeon calls from the kitchen, “There’s mail for you on the coffee table.”

Hyunjae reaches for the stack, and he’s surprised by the sight, unused to mail that isn’t some thoughtlessly colourful advertisement or a boring envelope stamped with the museum’s seal.

When he pulls it out from the pile, his heart stops suddenly in his chest.

It’s Scotland - he thinks - with its rolling green hills and heather grey sky. The edges are a little bent from the journey it must have travelled to Seoul, but the colours are so vibrant Hyunjae has to blink twice before his eyes focus. With trembling fingers, he skims the blunt edges, feeling terribly frail and vulnerable — after all, only one person _he thinks_ would ever send Hyunjae postcards from countries Hyunjae will never see. 

He turns it over.

On the back, against creamy card stock in wet black ink —

_Thinking of you._

The card smells like post offices and worn paper, like wild grass and distant memories of being young and in love. It smells like Juyeon, restless and reckless, like sea spray on jagged rock, like topaz skin on sheets tangled between coltish limbs. 

A rush of feeling so potent and heady that it makes Hyunjae’s throat clog up abruptly crashes through him. 

Hyunjae was twenty three when he first met a boy who wrote his name in wet black ink on the top right hand corner of a freshly printed syllabus. Hyunjae was twenty three when he walked, tripped, stumbled into love with that same boy who wanted to see the world so badly that his eyes shined with glittering seas and faraway cliffs.

Hyunjae is forty five when he receives a postcard that says “Thinking of you” from a man he’s still in love with — a man he thinks maybe, possibly, still loves him too in spite of it all.

Yes, Hyunjae finds, he is always, _endlessly_ , thinking of Juyeon too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos mean so, so much to me. 
> 
> If you want to chat or get updates on my work, come find me on Twitter (link in profile)!
> 
> \- Anon


End file.
